Two of the wolves had shifted and moved their injured companion onto the truck bed. They placed her in as much comfort as possible but found that Gyada was a larger challenge. She had collapsed shortly after the weretiger had run off. Either her wounds were more severe than they looked, or whatever she had done in combat had exhausted her.
They had never seen anyone move so fast, not even Boris. They knew it was possible for vampires to go far faster, from what Boris had told them. The echoes of their amazement and surprise at seeing a Were act that quickly was still resounding. Most of them had grown up convinced that Michael’s family had many abilities no Were would ever have. Gyada’s actions had left them in awe.
Even with their enhanced strength, the two of them couldn’t move Gyada’s unconscious armored bulk by themselves. They relaxed slightly when one of them, Mikhail, noticed her wounds closing. “Comrade, she will not pass away here at least. But how will we get her onto the truck?” his partner, Anton, asked.
“We shall have to wait I suppose. Tell the radioman, when he gets here, to ask for the field ambulance with the heavy-duty stretcher.”
“They won’t bring any of the field ambulances this far out, Mikhail. You know that.”
“No, but we will need it at the inner patrol line. The truck will be used to bolster our defenses, I imagine. Perhaps with the help of the other Weres, we will manage to get her up there. In the meantime, look for some stout branches. If it comes to it, three of us should be able to drag her out of here on a sled.”
Mikhail had answered the unasked and unnecessary question. There was no way after what she had just done they were going to leave Gyada for the enemy.
He spat on the ground. His family had served Boris for a long time. They had legends about the Cat shifters. Usually, it took five or more wolves to bring one down. Gyada had fought one to a draw, by herself. He respected that.
This was not someone who would be left behind.
He went to the truck and turned on the engine heater. Most vehicles designed for use in the far north had one. Otherwise, there was no way to start an engine in high winter. Mikhail had just gotten the truck running smoothly when he heard the Spartans moving in.
“Jory, Hajek, come here, please. Help us get Gyada loaded on the truck.” Mikhail yelled. Turning to the Sergeant, he said, “No faster than twenty klicks per hour, Sarge. And the others will have to help keep Gyada on. She’s alive but unconscious.”
With some effort, the four shifted Weres managed to get Gyada onto the bed and wedged between two of the tubes. They couldn’t make it too tight, or they’d risk injuring her further. Once she was safely in the truck bed, Gyada let out a deep sigh of relief without ever regaining consciousness.
With four soldiers securing the larger Were in place, and one holding down Elena, the rest of the wolves changed back to their human forms. The truck took off for their own base. With all the extra weight, the Sergeant would have been surprised if their little group could have moved faster than the suggested speed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Battle of New Romonovka.
The damned Sacred Clan and their forces had been probing for nearly two days since they broke off the abortive assault that Gyada’s patrol had stopped. Even though the enemy forces were taking attritional casualties, Boris was forced to station nearly a thousand of his two and a half thousand force around the Town and Pod hanger. Additional troops had to be positioned in the cave. His patrols were also taking damage. He’d lost an entire long range patrol to a pair of Werecats, and another patrol had been injured so severely that they were effectively out of action.
The only reason that anyone had survived was Janna had been nearby and driven off the attack. The constant harassing tactics had forced Boris to move his Spartan patrols to reinforce the inner patrols. He, Alecta, and Gyada, who claimed she was fully recovered, were acting as a rapid-reaction strike force for the town and cave. Janna and Paul were out with the patrols, to give them some cover. For the first time since they had left, he wished he had the full Siberian Were pack here.
He was unconvinced that Gyada was fully recovered. Lilith refused to comment, but the injured eye, though grown back, was still cloudy. Even injured, her presence and skill on the field reduced the casualties they might otherwise have taken.
Boris hated having no good options. The attackers’ tactics made it clear that this was not a full assault, but a raid which would be harder to defend against. They had two prime targets, even if one would be more complicated than they expected. He had to protect both objectives and the town — if there was obvious damage there, then the Government might send its own forces in against it. He was spread too thin… and knew it. Some women had volunteered to shoot from fixed positions. Without that, he wouldn’t have had enough firepower to be able to send the patrols out.
He now estimated the enemy force at somewhat over two thousand, even with the hundred or so enemy casualties from successful defensive actions against their probes.
Boris decided to call Stephen. He was going to take casualties in this engagement, even more than he had now. He could prevent those casualties by calling on Black Eagle support, and he knew it. But he was unsure of Bethany Anne’s reaction. He needed to talk to someone who knew her better.
Stephen’s voice was on the line in a moment, “Boris, Good to hear from you. The fight goes well?”
“Neyt, my friend, it does not. But I have other concerns. I do not know the Czarina as well as you do. What is her likely reaction if the Government here decides that using Black Eagles after they have asked us not to is offensive and they throw an attack at me?”
There was silence on the line for a moment. Then with a sigh, Stephen asked, “Do you really think the government would do that? Be that stupid?”
It was Boris’ turn to sigh. “I give it a sixty percent or better chance. I have also thought about why she refused me a MotherPucker. She was right. Neither of us need those deaths on our souls. Besides, these are Russian lives. If I have to take some casualties to protect them, I will.”
There was silence over the connection as Stephen contemplated the issue. Both he and Boris were from a different age. The blood washed from their souls faster than it did their Queen’s. He knew it. It was obvious what Boris suspected. But there was a point beyond which Bethany Anne would tear a strip off his hide for not using all the resources he had.
“How many casualties do you think you will take, and how many have you already taken?”
Boris answered, “Twelve MIA, presumed KIA. Eight KIA. Forty-three injured. I would estimate no more than a hundred dead total. Wounded? That is trickier. No more than three hundred? Many of them walking wounded.”
Steven was silent for a moment, then asked, “Why so high?”
“They have some old Chinese Type 97 one-fifty millimeter heavy mortars.”
“Are you sure you can keep your casualties down without the Black Eagles?”
“Between the five greater weres we have here, yes. When they finally show their hand, we will be there to counter them.”
“Then yes. Decline to use the Black Eagle support. None of us want her to have caused those casualties. Ultimately, she gave you judgement over Russia, and she will respect your decision, even if she could never understand why the Russians would be… pushed to act against you after a display of the force she could release against them. We need her to keep her bright soul.”